


The Knife

by DjCentralia



Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: One Shot, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:38:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DjCentralia/pseuds/DjCentralia
Summary: Jacob always has that damned bowie knife, but why?





	The Knife

Jacob and Asa were sat in a treestand deep in the Whitetail Mountains. It was still two hours before sunrise, so they sat in silence, waiting for the sun to edge on the horizon to be able to take their first shots.

“Should have a few doe come through here just after sunrise. Come this way before going to the creek for water,” Jacob whispered. He drew his large hunting knife and traced his thumb over the blade. It was a habit of his.

Asa watched him a moment before turning back to the woods. “Why carry that monster with you? Why not a smaller foldable or something?”

_Jacob had been home more than a few years since his deployments to the Middle East. He had a great gig training cronies for his brother. Even if Joseph wasn’t legit and was just taking advantage of people, what did he care? He got to do something he enjoyed without much repercussion. But something was still missing. Something inside of him was…wrong. Off._ Tilted _._

_Joseph tried giving him readings and scriptures that might “calm him” or “give him answers”, but that was all empty to him. And John, well. John wasn’t one to give good advice. He just kind of “was”, the type of person to just go and not worry or ask any questions._

_There was one evening, after a bottle of bourbon and no one to talk to, where Jacob stumbled into his bathroom. He braced his arms on each side of the sink and steadied himself in front of the streaked mirror. He could see past the scars, past the disheveled hair and untrimmed beard. But Jacob couldn’t see past his eyes. They had become hollow. And if the eyes were a window to the soul, then he himself was hollow. Only one way to know he thought as he reached to his him for his knife. He didn’t feel the blade go into his stomach, nor the tear as he drug it across his torso. He also didn’t feel the warm velvet of blood across his hand. Jacob looked down, puzzled, to see sand pouring over his wrist, traipsing like a waterfall down to the floor. Heaps of dry, coarse, salty sand._

_“Joseph!” Jacob belted, a croaked half scream. Joseph came storming into the room. And there was Jacob, perched in front of the mirror staring himself down. “What…What’s wrong, Jacob?”_

_“The sand….I’m just sand.”_

_Joseph looked his brother up and down, seeing him shaking. He walked to stand behind him and placed his hands on Jacob’s shoulders, “Come on, brother. I think it’s time we get some sleep.”_

“It keeps me here,” Jacob mumbled to Asa.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little fan theory I have. As someone who has similar moments in the mirror, I can only imagine what fuels Jacob's hunger and what swirls in his head.


End file.
